


I'm Falling For Your Eyes

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Chaptered, Complete, M/M, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-21 02:16:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is pining after his best friend and doesn't know what to do about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at my livejournal [here](http://its-a-deal.livejournal.com/96095.html)
> 
> I was going to add one more chapter to this story, but I decided I'm done with it and it's complete without the extra chapter. I may go back later and add an epilogue if I feel like it, but it's complete for now.

Louis unceremoniously bounded through the door to the bedroom, stomped over to the side of the bed, and came to a halt with his hands planted firmly on his hips. He pouted down at a lump of blankets concealing the sleeping form of one Harry Styles, a tuft of chocolate curls the only visible part of his younger bandmate. He had a passing thought that the boy bore an adorable resemblance to a rather large kitten, all curled up like this, and his mouth quirked in a small smile before he shook off the thought and rearranged his face into what he hoped was an impressive scowl.

"Hazzaaaaaa why are you still asleep?! It's almost eleven and you promised to take me to breakfast this morning. I'm hungry and grumpy and tired of waiting, so get up!" he complained.

As Louis spoke, a lazy smile played on the drowsy boy's too-pink lips as he registered the familiar voice of his best mate. Before Louis' abrupt entrance, Harry had been indulging in the lovely haze between asleep and awake, reluctant to fully surface to consciousness when he was so comfortably settled in his warm bed. His curls loosely tumbled together as he rolled over to face the other boy, blinking sleepily up at him from his spot on the pillow with a look that somehow managed to be both sheepish and cheeky.

"Sorry, sorry, you know how I need my beauty rest. I'll just go hop in the shower and then we'll go," Harry rumbled, his morning voice sounding gravely and deep.

Louis could almost feel the vibrations of that husky voice all the way down to his toes.

Harry lifted the covers with a wide yawn, swinging his legs to the floor and stretching his lanky frame slowly before finally standing up and facing Louis. The older boy was attempting to fix him with a look that was halfway between pathetic pout and angry glare, but the sight of Harry standing before him, rubbing the sleep out of his green eyes as he looked fondly down at him, erased his irritation completely and his glare ended up coming over as exasperated affection more than anything.  _It's impossible to be annoyed when he looks so damn cuddly_ , Louis thought.

Harry patted Louis' cheek lazily, his large hands still warm and soft from sleep, and began shuffling into the bathroom to take a shower, stripping his boxer-briefs off along the way. As he entered the bathroom, he turned back to Louis with a dozy half-grin lifting his lips—trademark dimple making an appearance for the first time that day—and shut the door.

As the dulled sounds of water pattering against tile started drifting through the room, Louis flopped down on the bed with a sigh, trying to erase the image of Harry's naked form moving languidly into the bathroom from his mind. It shouldn't have been so difficult, really, except that somewhere along the line, his feelings for Harry had become  _feelings_  for Harry.

And with every heavy arm thrown carelessly around a shoulder; every casual shake of curly hair; every shirt that rode up too high to reveal a strip of soft skin; every broad, dimpled smile; every too-loud bark of laughter; every soft green gaze; every cheeky wink; he fell just a little bit harder, a little bit farther for his best friend and bandmate.

He had only consciously registered his burgeoning affection recently, and it put him in a rather difficult position. There were several problems to having what was quickly becoming the world's biggest crush on Harry Styles: firstly, Louis wasn't gay. Or at least he hadn't been, or hadn't realized it, or…something. Which was the reason for his second problem: Louis was currently dating Eleanor, who was not only quite fit, but incredibly sweet and cared deeply for him. Thirdly, he was pretty sure being in an increasingly famous band with Harry meant starting anything beyond friendship with him would be a terrible idea. Fourthly—and this put the kibosh on the entire thing, really—Harry was straight and definitely not interested in doing any of the things that filled Louis' head late at night while he writhed in his sheets and exhaled soft moans into his pillow.

Running a frustrated hand through his feathered brown hair, he sat up and waited for his... _crush? love of his life? soulmate?—_ his brain supplied unhelpfully — no,  ** _friend_** he thought with a sharp shake of his head, willing his internal monologue to just shut the hell up for once.

A few minutes passed before the door to the bathroom opened and wisps of steam trailed out, followed by Harry. He had a towel wrapped loosely around his hips, shaking out his wet curls as he crossed the room to his closet. Louis bit his lip and tried not to notice how the beads of water rolled slowly down his toned torso, tried not to think about the cut lines that started at his hipbones and formed a tantalizing v shape ending in — well, he  _tried_. He was only human, after all.

Harry rummaged through the mess of clothes jumbled at the bottom of his closet to find something to wear, eventually settling on tight black jeans and a gray jumper. He let the towel slip to the floor as he pulled a fresh pair of boxer briefs on, while Louis quietly tried to not have a stroke. Suffice it to say, the unbidden feelings he was harboring were in no way helped by Harry's comfortable relationship with nudity in the presence of anyone and everyone.

When Harry was —  _finally, blessedly —_ dressed, he turned to Louis and opened his mouth to ask where he wanted to go for breakfast, only to tilt his head slightly and frown when he caught sight of his friend's flustered face and decidedly pained expression.

"You alright, mate? You look sort of constipated or something," Harry said with a concerned look.

"Err…what? No, no, I'm fine. Just…hungry is all," Louis mumbled awkwardly. "Let's just go eat, yeah?"

Harry still looked a bit puzzled, but gave a mental shrug as he grabbed his wallet and keys and led the way out the door. Louis followed behind, heart beating harder than it had any right to. 


	2. Chapter 2

Harry had this way of eating where he'd stick his tongue slightly out of his mouth every time he took a bite of food, like a wiggly pink welcoming party of one for whatever he's shoveling in at the time. Louis had poked fun at him for it since X-Factor when he first noticed it, but he'd secretly always loved it; he thought it was both adorable and (more recently) arousing, considering the mental image it gave him of the  _other_  things Harry might stick his tongue out for before swallowing into his mouth. And so it was that Louis found himself drooling over Harry as he took bites of sausage and egg one late morning in their flat. 

 

It had been an uneventful few days, as the band were on a rare break from touring and recording their next album. They had a month off after their last tour, with only a show or two booked in London during that span of time. Louis had gone to Doncaster to see his family for a few days when they'd gotten home, but now he and Harry had the flat to themselves. Predictably, the abundance of alone time with Harry was doing nothing to help Louis get over him, and he instead found himself spiraling further down into the depths of his crush. 

 

Louis spent the majority of his free time marveling at how the tiny details of Harry that had slipped by unnoticed for years now seemed like small miracles to behold, and the rest of his time chastising himself for being such an unforgivable sap. He'd even gone so far as to develop an obsession with Harry's ears, of all things. His long hair covered them almost all of the time, so every rare glimpse Louis got of his small, rounded ears made something warm bubble up in his chest. They were just so awkwardly adorable, he couldn't help himself. 

 

He'd never felt like this before, like all the minuscule parts of someone were just as dear to him as the larger aspects of who they were. It was certainly a new feeling to look at someone's knobby kneecaps and sigh wistfully, but it was a little bit lovely, too, knowing that everything about Harry, even the minutia, mattered to him. And okay, maybe it's a little weird to want to write sonnets about someone's earlobes and extra nipples, but Louis has never claimed to be the benchmark for normalcy anyway. 

 

Louis surfaced from his reverie as Harry finished his breakfast and stood. He walked into the kitchen to put his plate and cup away, and Louis smiled when he saw the taller boy was wearing a pair of his pajama bottoms; they're too short for him, making his ankles stick too far out of the bottom, and the sight makes Louis feel like his heart is too big for his chest. 

 

Everything about Harry is just  _long—_ from his legs to the way he draws out every syllable when he speaks, like he wants his sentences to stretch forever the way his body does. And he keeps getting longer; Harry's had more growth spurts this year than Louis knows what to do with. It seems Harry doesn't quite know how to manage the body he seems to be in constant danger of growing out of either, given how often he trips over himself and bumbles into things like he's expecting to be much lower to the ground than he is. 

 

Harry padded out of the kitchen, sat down on the couch, and he looked over at Louis expectantly, waiting for him to launch into the list of half-baked plans he'd made for them as he always did. Louis just shrugged and walked over to the couch, sitting down next to Harry. 

 

"I don't really feel like doing anything but sitting here all day," Louis said. "It's bloody freezing outside and I can't be bothered to put actual clothes on anyway. What say you, young Harold? Up for a movie marathon?"

 

Harry looked a bit relieved they wouldn't be trekking all over London in search of the perfect cupcake shop or something equally ridiculous as they usually did on days off. He smiled at Louis and said, "Sounds perfect, actually. I'll go make some popcorn, you can choose the movie."

 

He stood and began strolling back into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder at Louis, "But if it's Grease again, you'll have to find yourself a different flatmate," he said with a shake of his head. "There's only so much Travolta one bloke can take."

 

Louis stuck his tongue out at Harry's retreating back, but decided to play nice, picking Iron Man instead. 

 

Harry came back into the living room, arms loaded with popcorn, ice cream, red vines, and napkins, the last of which he dropped on his way to the couch. He tried to pick them up with his feet, getting more and more frustrated with each failed maneuver of his less-than-dexterous toes. 

 

Louis watched in fond amusement as his brow furrowed in concentration and his lips puckered into a scowl at the napkins, stolidly refusing to budge from their place on the carpet. Harry made an irritated noise, nostrils flaring and eyes going wide under his contracted eyebrows, before he gave up and stomped in the direction of the couch. He placed his haul on the coffee table and sat down on the cushions with a huff, crossing his arms and glaring at the offending napkins, still taunting him from the floor. 

 

"Haz, we've been through this. Toes aren't fingers, pet, you can't use them to pick things up," Louis managed through a barely suppressed giggle as he went to retrieve the napkins himself.

 

"But it works sometimes! I pick shirts and stuff up off the floor with them, why should a napkin be any different?" Harry pouted. "Besides, it's more fun."

 

"Tell that to the angry kitten sitting on the couch next to me," Louis said dryly before cracking a smile. "Come on, movie time! Pass the Chunky Monkey."

 

Harry fell asleep on Louis' shoulder halfway through Iron Man 2, eliciting a tiny flutter in Louis' chest. Harry slept on him fairly frequently, especially on tour when they were constantly on the move and they all caught sleep wherever they could, using each other as pillows more often than they used actual pillows. But this was the first time since they'd been back home, where there was ample space anywhere else for Harry to stretch out and doze, but he hadn't. He'd chosen to cuddle up to Louis, cramped on one end of the couch, like he couldn't quite get comfortable anywhere else. 

 

Louis smiled down at the heavy head of curls resting on his shoulder and felt a light shiver run through him in response to the slow, even breaths puffing gently onto his neck. He carefully leaned his head on top of Harry's so as not to wake him, relishing the soft brush of curls where they tickled his cheek. 

 

He could smell shampoo and the sweet tang of Harry's cologne wafting off the sleeping boy, mixed with the scent that was all Harry, the one he caught a delicious whiff of every time he's borrowed one of his jumpers or slid in under the covers beside him on cold mornings with a cup of tea for each of them. 

 

Harry shifted slightly in his sleep and mumbled something that Louis couldn't quite catch before settling and snoring gently. The sounds of Harry's snoring were so familiar by now they acted almost as a lullaby, and before long, Louis had drifted off too. 


	3. Chapter 3

Tonight they're playing at a sold-out arena in London; on stage the lights are bright and the crowd is so, so loud. This is beyond surreal, Louis thinks as he looks out into the sea of screaming faces, knowing some of them are screaming his name. He's on a massive stage with his favorite people in the world and he thinks nothing can ever compare to how amazing he feels belting out the lyrics to songs—their songs, he still can't quite believe it—to thousands of people night after night.

Well, nothing can compare to that feeling except the feeling he gets watching Harry perform. He's perfect, Louis thinks, watching him. His neck muscles are straining and he's jumping around like the sexiest idiot Louis' ever seen, sweaty curls falling across his forehead to be brushed back a second later by impatient fingers as he tilts his head back to hit the last note. When Harry gets onstage it's like a switch flips somewhere inside him; he just turns on, blindingly bright. He's sweaty and smelly and smiling and glowing and Louis can't stop drinking him in. The cues are all so routine now he could hit them in his sleep, so he lets himself drown in Harry's presence, goosebumps rising on his arms.

The opening notes of What Makes You Beautiful start playing and the crowd becomes impossibly louder. They all sing, then it's time for Harry's solo and his now-routine public humiliation at the hands of the other boys. Louis can't deny it's his favorite part of every show—watching the boys tease Harry by pinching his bum and making him fidget—but tonight is different.

Tonight, Zayn and Liam decided it would be a good idea to rip Harry's shirt open instead of pulling one of the minimally invasive pranks they'd been pulling all tour. Suddenly, Harry's impossibly long and multi-nippled torso is on display for all to see; his voice wavers slightly at the sudden exposure and his dimpled cheeks are tinted pink. He looks vulnerable and so beautiful and Louis is going to have an actual heart attack.

The entire rest of the show could have been filled with pterodactyls flying around, or an alien invasion in the middle of the arena, for all Louis knew. He couldn't get the image of Harry—shirtless, squirming away from Zayn and Liam, trying to hide his perfect chest from the crowd of squealing girls—out of his head.

It's not like seeing Harry shirtless is anything new, of course, but this was different. This was on stage—a safe space that Louis heretofore used to shamelessly drool over Harry in all his glory, unguarded in the assumption that the other boys (especially Harry) would always be too preoccupied to notice his wandering eyes. But this, this was too much. Something about the unexpected situation coupled with the latent voyeur in Louis made this one of the most erotic experiences he could remember—to his surprise and chagrin, as he divided the rest of their time on stage between trying to hide his obnoxiously obvious boner and avoiding eye contact with anyone at all costs.

The show finally ended and the lads hustled backstage and into their shared dressing room to change out of their performance outfits and gather their belongings. The four boys who weren't in the middle of furiously willing their resilient semis to evaporate were laughing and joking as usual, while Louis trailed behind, hoping to remain unnoticed for the time being.

He changed as swiftly as he could into a pair of loose sweatpants and a thin t-shirt and muttered a quick excuse to the rest of them about having to phone Eleanor (which he had no intention of actually doing, given the mental war he was currently waging against his obstinate penis) before heading to the van that would take them all back to their shared apartment complex. He issued a silent thank you to their management that this particular show had happened in London, so he was headed back to the privacy of his own flat instead of the cramped tour bus that would make getting some much needed alone time a problem.

Once all the boys had made their way to the van, it pulled out of the back of the venue and into the London traffic. Everyone was chatting normally and checking their phones except Louis, who was still itching out of his skin with the need to get home, get in the shower, and finally put the image that was currently seared onto the inside of his eyelids to good use in private. His situation wasn't helped by the fact that Harry was sitting next to him on the ride home with one thigh pressed hard against his own and his fingers accidentally brushing against Louis' side with every bump and turn of the road.

The others tried to pull Louis into conversation once or twice before giving up completely after receiving nothing but a dazed look and a "Sorry, what was that?" from him for their efforts. They didn't seem overly concerned, chalking Louis' odd behavior up to post-show jitters or tiredness, and for that Louis was grateful.

After what seemed like hours, which was really only twenty minutes or so, the van pulled up to their complex and the boys climbed out. They waved a quick hello to the security guard at the front and went up to their floor. Louis and Harry's flat was closest to the elevator, so the other three boys said their goodbyes to the pair before continuing down the hall to their respective doors.

+++

Harry opened the front door and they stepped inside. He locked the door behind them and turned to ask Louis if he fancied ordering a pizza for dinner, only to find that he'd already disappeared into his room. Harry heard the sound of a shower starting and went to go sit on the couch, figuring he could wait until Louis was done to ask him what toppings he wanted on his pizza.

Twenty minutes later, Louis was still in the damn shower and Harry was hungry. He decided he'd have to interrupt Louis' shower if he was ever going to actually eat at any point that night. To that end, he walked through Louis' room in the direction of his bathroom, stepping over the mountains of books, dvds and discarded clothes blocking his path and wrinkling his nose at the mess.

He had just raised a hand to knock when he heard a loud moan through the closed door and froze. He should have turned and walked out of the room, leaving Louis to enjoy himself in peace. He should have, but he didn't, because the voice from the other side of the door had shaped that guttural sound to form a name — Harry.

A dizzying jolt of arousal spiraled through him, pooling low in his stomach and making his cock stir in his trousers. Louis was in the shower. Wanking. And he had just fucking moaned his name. Harry felt like his brain had melted or shorted out or simply crawled off to find a less confusing and intense situation to deal with.

He was still frozen in place, hand still poised to knock on the door when his brain finally stuttered into action and he turned and left the room, thoughts of pizza and everything not directly involving Louis and his dick completely forgotten.

He hurried into his bedroom and shut the door behind him, immediately slumping back against it and shoving his hand inside his pants, wrapping his long fingers around his now aching dick and pumping furiously, his mind replaying Louis' voice panting out his name over and over as he came with a shuddering groan.

As the aftershocks of his orgasm ebbed away, he made his way to his bed, legs wobbling slightly. He flopped down on the covers, a million thoughts flooding his mind at once.

So this was…new. Not the part where he'd masturbated to Louis; no, that was rather old hat by now — he'd had feelings for Louis for almost as long as he'd known him. The part where Louis apparently also got off to Harry, however, was brand new information.

Louis hadn't been Harry's first crush on a guy (he was an equal opportunist when it came to gender, though he hadn't bothered to mention it) but it had been the only crush he'd had on anyone of either gender that stuck, burrowing under his skin and settling there. There was something so captivating about Louis and the way he was always too much all at once, but in the best way.

Harry found him utterly overwhelming at first, constantly feeling like he couldn't quite keep up; he still feels that way sometimes. Louis has this hard, fast energy that vibrates through everything, and it's always made Harry feel so slow, like he's made of languid, soft ripples by comparison, but he likes it. He likes how they contrast so much, feels like they compliment each other.

Louis is made of sharp edges and hard lines; he's uncompromising in all the ways Harry isn't and wishes he could be. But underneath all the buzzing exterior, he's caring and fiercely loyal, and the best friend Harry's ever had. He's always made Harry feel special, like he matters. The fact that this blinding ball of energy and laughter and love had come crashing along and decided that Harry, of all people, was worth stopping for—well, that was something.

Louis had careened into his life, all crinkly blue eyes and lithe tanned limbs and impossible confidence, tilting it permanently off its axis, and Harry had been orbiting the older boy ever since. But he'd repressed those feelings almost as soon as they came along, because he'd known Louis wasn't interested in him that way.

He'd had a girlfriend when they'd met at X-Factor and shortly after they'd broken up, he'd gotten together with Eleanor. Louis was straight — or so Harry thought until tonight — and so Harry ignored his crush and tried to make the best of having Louis in his life in whatever capacity he could.

He'd accepted that he'd never have a chance with Louis a long time ago, and now he didn't know what to think. Was it possible he'd misheard? Had Louis actually been moaning…Harryyyyy-iett? Some porn star he'd taken a shine to? Or was Harry some nickname he'd adopted for Eleanor? No, that would be even weirder. He felt a glimmer of hope bubble up unbidden in his chest at the thought that Louis really had been calling out his name as he climaxed under the warm water.

He decided he'd take some time tomorrow to mull over his thoughts and figure out what to do about all of this, if there was even anything to do in the first place. He wriggled out of his pants and trousers and tossed off his t-shirt, snuggling under the warm covers of his bed, and fell into a restless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Louis woke up late the next morning, feeling sleepy but sated from his marathon wanking session. He stretched happily in bed before noticing a distinct lack of delicious breakfast-y smells coming from the kitchen. He frowned, a little miffed that Harry had apparently taken a morning off from his housewifely cooking duties, not wanting to have to make do with cold cereal. He emerged from his bedroom still in his pajamas, intent on finding his wayward flatmate and persuading (forcing) him into making his favorite egg on toast. 

 

He passed by Harry's room, noticing the door was open and the bed was made neatly, no Harry-shaped lump in the middle. He wandered out into the living room, expecting to find Harry curled on the couch watching telly, but it was empty too. 

 

"HAAARRREEEEEHHHHHHH," Louis bellowed, figuring he'd cut corners and flush his best friend out of hiding that way, but there was no answer. Obviously, Harry wasn't home—or he had come down with a sudden and very serious case of deafness. 

 

Louis pulled out his phone and tapped out a quick text:

 

**i can't believe you're forcing me to eat stale cheerios, you're the worst wife ever. where are you curly? xx**

 

He slipped the phone back into the pocket of his pajama bottoms and went to sit on the couch, figuring he'd catch up on the latest episode of Doctor Who while he waited for Harry's response, which he hoped would include an invitation to breakfast.

 

Two hours and two episodes of Doctor Who passed with no response from Harry, and Louis tried not to think about the deflated feeling settling in his chest. He reminded himself that he and Harry were just friends, Harry didn't owe him an immediate reply; but the rational part of his brain was fighting an uphill battle against the pouty 14 year old that had apparently taken up residence there in the few weeks since he'd realized his feelings for He Who Would Not Text Back. He decided to stop moping around his empty flat and head over to Niall's to see if he wanted to get lunch.

 

Four hours later (and still no response, not that Louis could be bothered to notice. He'd just been checking his phone because he was expecting a very important and non-Harry related phone call, thank you very much) he and Niall were lounging on his couch playing FIFA, bellies full of Nando's. They heard the front door open and the distinctive accents of Liam and Zayn calling out hellos. 

 

Six hours later and Eleanor had called to see if the boys wanted to join her and a few friends for a night out on the town, to which they all agreed. Niall texted Harry to see if he wanted to join, and to Louis' immense annoyance, he received an immediate text back in the affirmative, saying he would meet them at the club in a bit. Louis didn't know why Harry had been ignoring him all day, but he was determined to have a good time out with his girlfriend and other three bandmates, Harry and his inexplicably cold shoulder be damned. 

 

They arrived at the club and Louis immediately spotted his girlfriend, dressed provocatively in a tight black top, low-cut jeans and heels, and  _god_  she had legs for days. He'd been so preoccupied with Harry and his stupidly perfect everything, especially after last night, that he'd almost forgotten how fit his actual significant other was. He may be in the midst of a sexuality crisis, but he could still appreciate her smooth curves. 

 

He made his way through the crowd and slid an arm around her waist, murmuring a hello into her ear. She turned and gave him a peck on the cheek, long wavy hair brushing his shoulder as she leaned in. Zayn and Liam had woven their way across the club by now and were making their introductions to Eleanor's group of friends, while Niall had shot off to the bar to get the first round of drinks. 

 

Niall came back from the bar a few minutes later with drinks for everyone, and they all stood around chatting idly and sipping their drinks. Louis scanned the crowd every few minutes, expecting to see his familiar frame bobbing toward them, but to no avail. Harry's absence bothered him more than he'd like to admit, but he had Eleanor and the other boys to distract him and he figured he'd make the best of it. He downed the rest of his drink and went to the bar to order another. 

 

An hour and a half after they arrived, Louis was drunk. Not stumbling, slurring, blurting-out-deep-secrets-and-declarations-of-love drunk, but a hazy, happy, dancing sort of drunk that saw him leading Eleanor onto the dance floor, grinding dirtily against her and laughing over her shoulder at Zayn, who was trying to coax Liam into doing his famous moonwalk-into-a-split dance move. He was pleasantly buzzed and intended on getting even more pleasantly buzzed, and to that end, he grabbed Eleanor's hand and pulled her towards the bar, motioning for the rest of them to join.

 

A mop of curly hair appeared in his peripheral vision as they all congregated at the counter, eliciting a fuzzy sort of swooping feeling in Louis' gut that he tried to force down. He was half pleased that he'd finally shown, and half scowling that Harry hadn't immediately sought him out to beg Louis' forgiveness for his neglectful behavior of the last twelve hours and pull him into a bear hug. 

 

The pleased part of him turned sour all too quickly when he realized Harry had no intention of approaching him at all, and what little good spirits he had left plummeted as he realized he'd been right all along: Harry was definitely ignoring him. He honestly didn't know what was going on; they had been fine the night before when they got back to the flat, so why was Harry now acting like Louis was some sort of pariah? 

 

Louis, being the mature, high-road-taking sort of fellow he was, decided that rather than talk to Harry and ask him if he'd done something to upset him, he was going to give back as good as he got and just act like he wasn't bothered in the slightest. 

 

He threw a terse smile in Harry's general direction, not bothering to look at how it was received, and turned back to the rest of the group, where he was immediately met with a rather shrill squeal from one of Eleanor's friends— Alice, was it? Alisha? He couldn't remember — who latched on to his arm like a drunken barnacle. 

 

"Louissssss you and Eleanor should do a body shot!! They're soooo fun I promise! And it'll be so hot oh my god!" she slurred. 

 

He was about to decline the offer, trying to disengage his arm from the death grip of Alice or Alisha or whatever she was called, when Eleanor piped up, "Oh yeah! I've always wanted to try that! Come on, babe!" as she grabbed Louis' hand and pulled him closer to the bar.

 

+++

 

Harry had left the apartment early that morning, needing to clear his head after the confusing events of the night before, not really knowing how to face Louis after what he'd overheard. He had spent so long pushing his feelings for the other boy away that the thought that it was even remotely possible that they were returned was overwhelming, and left him equal parts giddy and terrified. 

 

When he got the text from Louis that morning he'd ignored it, not really wanting to deal with him directly yet. He spent the day wandering around the city—beanie tugged down low over his curls, most of his face hidden behind large sunglasses so as not to be recognized—as he thought through his options. 

 

By the time Niall texted him with the plans for the evening, he was flirting with the idea of telling Louis and just hoping for the best, and a night out with the boys seemed like as good an opportunity as any to broach the subject. He decided he would go to the club and feel things out, seeing where the night went with a little Dutch courage in his belly. If Louis seemed like his feelings had changed and he really was into him, he'd make his move.

 

He went back to the flat to shower and change into a white button down shirt Louis had complimented him on a few weeks ago and dark grey trousers. He spent several minutes picking at a particularly stubborn spot on his forehead, and several more minutes nervously trying to flatten his curls in the mirror, before giving up on both ventures with a frustrated sigh and moving away to pull on a pair of black boots. When he had double and triple checked his reflection, making sure no stray boogers were hanging out of his nose and he hadn't accidentally tucked his shirt into his boxers, he finally made his way out the door and over to the club. 

 

When he walked in, the first thing he saw was Louis' crotch pressed flush to Eleanor's arse as the two of them swayed on the dance floor. Louis threw his head back, blue eyes twinkling and adam's apple bobbing in laughter at some inane thing Zayn was doing with Liam. He looked so…happy. Happy with his gorgeous girlfriend and the rest of his friends, perfectly content without Harry by his side. 

 

His heart sunk and all thoughts of talking to Louis about whatever had or hadn't happened last night went out the window. He hadn't realized how high his hopes were until they came crashing down around his ears, leaving him to face the cold wash of reality flooding over him. He felt like a prize idiot, thinking that not five minutes ago his plan had been to waltz in here and sweep Louis off his feet, when clearly, Louis' feet were firmly planted next to his girlfriends' with no intention of being swept anywhere, least of all by Harry. 

 

He thought about just leaving right then, going back to the flat and curling up on the couch with a cuppa and maybe some sad romance movies he could cry along to, but he'd gotten too many "Where are you?" texts from Niall, Zayn and Liam to leave without at least saying hello. He sighed heavily and trudged over to where they were all congregating at the bar, having abandoned the dance floor for the time being. 

 

As he slipped in to stand beside Niall, Louis looked over at him, something odd that Harry couldn't place flashing through his eyes. Harry opened his mouth to say hello, but before he could get the word out, Louis gave him an awkward, forced smile and turned back around to face Eleanor and her friends. He'd thought he couldn't feel more disappointed, but Louis' cold, fake smile proved him wrong as it sent an icy chill down his back. He felt Zayn rest a hand on his shoulder, and he turned to greet the rest of his band mates, grateful for the momentary distraction. 

 

He was in the middle of declining a shot from Niall when he heard Eleanor's friends cat-calling loudly. He looked over curiously to see a spot being cleared on the bar as Louis and Eleanor made their way front and center. 

 

He tilted his head in confusion, looking at Niall, who shrugged and returned his puzzled look. He didn't know what this was about either, apparently. And then he heard someone call "Body shot!" loudly, and it clicked. Louis was going to do a body shot off of Eleanor, and Harry had to stand here and watch him do it. 

 

Eleanor laid on the bar and rucked up her shirt to expose her toned stomach. She held the shot glass full of tequila in place between her breasts as she giggled around the lime wedge that was positioned between her glossed lips. 

 

Harry felt a hot fizzling of jealousy building in his chest as Louis licked a broad stripe across her midriff, wishing he could feel the wet warmth of Louis' tongue moving slowly from one side of his hips to the other, feel the light tingling of salt sprinkled over the moist patch and the second hot swoop of tongue as Louis licked the particles into his mouth. 

 

He watched Louis take the shot and lean down to claim the lime from his girlfriend's mouth, watched as Eleanor wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss, lime falling forgotten to the floor of the club. They continued to kiss lazily on the bar as Eleanor's friends made appreciative whooping sounds and Harry tried to control the urge to find the nearest cliff and launch himself off of it.  

 

He felt sick with jealousy and disappointment; he wanted to forget this whole day, and especially, to forget the night before that had started this whole mess. He'd gone from being relatively content with his unrequited feelings, to helplessly hopeful, to wholly devastated in the span of twenty-four hours, and he was emotionally exhausted.

 

He bid a quick goodbye to the boys, ignoring their shouts of "C'mon Haz, you just got here! At least have one drink!" and waving over his shoulder at them as he left the club and made his lonely way back home. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Louis woke up with a pounding headache, roiling stomach and a mouth that tasted like several homeless people had been living in it for some time. He groaned and rolled over, trying to fall back asleep and hoping desperately that he wouldn't wake up until the next day at least, when he felt something crinkly brush his fingertips where they lay on the duvet. He sat up, discovering a note in Harry's handwriting, which read:

 

**Gone home to visit mum, see you in a few days -H xx**

 

He frowned and put the note on his bedside table. Louis was confused. Harry had spent all of thirty minutes at the club last night before leaving without saying so much as a hello or a goodbye to him after an entire day out of the flat, and then decided to take an impromptu trip to Holmes Chapel the next morning? What was going on? This felt weird, it felt wrong. And Louis was too hungover to deal with it right then. He pulled the covers over his head once more and sank back into a miserable sleep. 

 

He spent most of the next day sulking around his flat, feeling uneasy. He wasn't sure what to do with himself. He'd spent the better part of two years in the back pocket of his best friend and now…now he was at a loss. He wondered if maybe he was overreacting and Harry just needed a vacation, but Harry had never needed time away from Louis before…and that still didn't explain why he'd deliberately avoided him the day before yesterday. 

 

He was regretting giving him an equally cold shoulder at the club, thinking maybe he should've tried talking to him instead. But honestly, what had he done to deserve all that in the first place? He ran a defeated hand through his fringe, feeling the greasy build up from two days without showering and pulled a face. He wanted to wallow in his pitiful state, but he was getting rather rank. Oh well, he'd shower later. 

 

Right now, he decided, he needed someone to talk to about all of this. He was tired of keeping his feelings to himself and he desperately needed advice on how to proceed with Harry. Clearly, taking his own advice hadn't turned out so well, given the fact that he was currently sat in an empty flat, stewing in his own B.O. and watching reruns of old sitcoms from the '70s. He loved Basil Fawlty as much as the next bloke, but this was getting more than a bit pathetic, really. 

 

He leaned into the couch cushions, chewing absentmindedly on a piece of popcorn, and contemplated his options. He could call Liam, but Liam was a bit too easily scandalized, if he was being honest. He might have an aneurysm if he found out about Louis' feelings for Harry, thinking about the implications for the band and all sorts of other things not directly related to the issue of resolving Louis' problem. Not that those things weren't important, Louis amended mentally, but that wasn't what he needed right now. Zayn was calmer, that was true, but he'd probably give Louis some kind of cryptic fortune cookie advice that had no actual bearing on reality—not exactly helpful in his current situation either. 

 

So that left Niall. Niall was a good listener and a good friend. Louis knew he would keep his confession a secret, and he could always be counted on to give honest—albeit blunt—advice on anything. And, if worst came to worst, at the very least the Irish lad's sunny disposition would help brighten his mood. He called Niall, telling him to come over, and settled in to wait nervously for him to arrive.

 

Niall came over bearing a six pack of beer and a cheery smile. He made his way into the living room where Louis was still sat on the couch, but his greeting died in his throat when he took in Louis' pathetically disheveled appearance: wrinkled pajama bottoms, stains on the shirt he clearly hadn't changed in a few days, all topped off with a dingy beanie jammed lopsidedly over his greasy, rumpled hair. 

 

"You look a right mess," he stated matter-of-factly as he plopped down on the couch a few cushions away from his smelly friend. 

 

Louis nodded in distracted agreement and hopped up off the couch, wringing his hands anxiously as he started pacing back and forth across the living room, trying to figure out how to start talking through the whole debacle. Niall was watching him curiously, but remained silent, waiting for Louis to say whatever it was that had him so knotted up. 

 

After a few more laps around the room, he stopped, turned to face Niall, and said, "I have to tell you something. I didn't want anyone to know, but I really need to talk to someone about this and here you are, so…" 

 

Louis resumed his frantic pacing, keeping his eyes trained on the ground, and suddenly the words came tumbling out in a rush.

 

"I'm in love with Harry and I think he hates me, I don't know. He's been so off the last few days, and I genuinely don't know what I did. I mean, I know I can be a handful sometimes, but this is just different, he's never _ignored_  me before. And now he's at home with his mum and he didn't even  _tell_ me, he just wrote me this stupid note and he didn't text me back before and then he just  _left_ and now things are weird and I've been hiding these feelings for weeks and weeks and it's just so hard and I mean, I can't…he can't know I love him, obviously, but I…just tell me what to do, please."

 

Louis trailed off, heaving a sigh and closing his eyes for a moment before opening them to peek anxiously at Niall. Niall looked at him thoughtfully for half a second, then calmly popped the cap off of one of the beer bottles sitting on the coffee table and handed it to Louis. He opened a beer for himself, took a long swig, and gestured for Louis to rejoin him on the couch. 

 

Louis had chosen Niall to confide in for a reason; he knew he was the kind of person who took things in stride. But still, he'd expected some sort of reaction from him, one that was a bit more significant than nonchalantly sipping his beer and acting as though Louis had just told him he'd been thinking about getting a haircut. He was a little indignant, honestly. He'd expected his declaration of tragic and unrequited love drama to be, well, more dramatic. 

 

Louis sat back down on the couch with a huff, turning to Niall and saying, "Well? Don't you have anything to say to that? I just confessed my love for  _Harry,_  our Harry! Remember him? Looks like Gumby in a curly wig? Dimples all over the place? One-fifth of the internationally famous boy band we all happen to be members of? Shouldn't your jaw be on the floor somewhere by now?"

 

"Not that much of a shocker, mate; been expecting you two to get together for ages. Honestly, I'm more surprised you're just figuring this all out now," Niall said with a chuckle. 

 

Now it was Louis who had to pick his jaw up off the floor, spluttering, "What do you mean you've been waiting ages, I've only just realized I had feelings for him a few weeks ago! And he doesn't like me like that anyway, he's straight, unless you've forgotten, not to mention—"

 

Niall interrupted his indignant rambling with a pointed eye roll and said, "Harry's had a crush on you since he met you, you idiot. Why do you think he hangs all over you like a wet noodle every minute of the day? Open your eyes, Lou. He's been pining since day one."

 

Louis was looking at Niall like he'd suddenly sprouted three heads and tentacles. He opened his mouth several times to speak only to shut it again noiselessly, resembling a very confused goldfish. Finally, he spoke: "Niall, that's…No. He's like that with everybody, you know that! He doesn't see me that way."

 

Niall settled back on the couch and sighed, shaking his head as he drained the last of his beer. 

 

"All right, fine, don't believe me. Look, you want my advice? However you think Harry feels, you've still got to do something—starting with breaking it off with Eleanor," Niall said with a shake of his head. "S'not fair to keep stringing her along when you're drooling over Harry all day. She's a good girl, she doesn't deserve that."

 

Louis sat back with a groan. Eleanor. He'd almost forgotten about her role in all of this. He felt extremely guilty that Niall had to remind him to consider her feelings, and he looked up at his friend with a sheepish expression. 

 

"Yeah," Louis sighed. "I think I'd better do that straight off." 

 

"Best idea you've had since the last time you showered," Niall chuckled, reaching over to pat Louis on the knee before popping open another beer.

 

Louis pulled out his phone to text Eleanor, telling her he was coming over to talk. 

 

"Well, that's settled," Louis said as he sent the text. "I'm going to head over there now."

 

Niall nodded and said, "I'll stay here and order us some take away while you're at hers and when you get back we can watch movies or something, talk more about Harry."

 

"You're aces, Niall, you know that?" Louis reached over and ruffled his hair before standing up and walking towards his bathroom to wash up.

 

"Yep," Niall called to Louis' retreating form as he grabbed the remote and switched on the telly. 

 

An hour and a half later, the door to the flat opened and Louis plodded in, looking a little relieved and a lot guilty. He heard the muffled sound of some reality TV program and followed the noise into the living room, where Niall was still sat on his spot on the couch, munching a slice of pizza. He looked up at Louis as he entered the room. 

 

"How'd it go?" Niall asked. 

 

Louis' only response was to slump face first onto the couch, legs splayed aimlessly over the armrest, and let out a muffled groan into the cushions. 

 

"That bad, huh?" Niall managed around his mouthful of pizza. 

 

"There was a lot of crying. I don't really want to talk about it, to be honest. It's done, at least. What are we watching?"

 

Louis spent the next three days sitting in his flat with Niall, alternately playing video games, watching football, and moping about Harry. 

 

He had to hand it to Niall, he was doing a spectacular job of putting up with him; it wasn't until Louis' fourth emphatic dissertation on Harry's eyes, complete with overly energetic hand gestures—

 

"But _Niall_ have you even  _seen_  them? They're so green and they, like,  _sparkle_ , it's insane! It's not remotely fair for him to just be  _looking at people all the time_  with eyes like that, really. Oh, and have you noticed sometimes how they'll look almost blue? Or when it's really sunny outside, sometimes they—Oh, sorry! I knocked over your tea, I'll mop it up in a minute—they get these flecks of gold and it's just so gorgeous, and..."

 

—that Niall finally begged him to shut up. 

 

"I love you mate, and you know I'm here for you, but if I have to hear one more word about Harry's eyes, I'm out of here, no matter how breathtaking they may be," Niall declared. "But if you want to talk about how you're going to tell Harry about your feelings for him, I'm all ears. You can't keep on like this, mate, s'not healthy."

 

Louis sighed, feeling like all he did these days was sigh. When did Niall find the time to hone all these skills of perception and sage wisdom, anyway? Maybe it was his leprechaun blood, he thought idly. 

 

"I don't know, I mean, it's eating me up just being around him as it is, that's true," Louis replied. "But Ni, I can't tell him, it would ruin our friendship completely. He'll reject me."

 

"Or he'll snog you senseless, more like," Niall snorted. 

 

Louis rolled his eyes and went to grab a towel to mop up the tea. 


	6. Chapter 6

Harry was lying on the carpet of his childhood bedroom, looking up at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above him, thinking hard about the last few days he'd spent at home.

 

He'd needed time away from London, from his flat, from the boys, and especially from Louis. After that horrible night at the club he was starting to think he'd hallucinated the whole shower thing, honestly. So he'd packed his bags early in the morning, careful not to wake Louis as he placed the note he'd written informing him of his whereabouts on the pillow next to him, and crept out of the flat. 

 

It had only taken him about thirty minutes of driving time to realize what he needed to do was to just get over Louis once and for all. Not that that plan had worked spectacularly well thus far, but he'd also never been jolted out of his wistful pining this harshly until now. He hoped it would be the kick in the gut he needed to move on. He'd continue being best friends with Louis, filing away his feelings for the boy in a dusty corner of his mind, and it would be business as usual when he got back. 

 

When he pulled into the driveway of his house, he was already feeling considerably lighter than he had when he'd left London that morning. He pulled his bag out of the car and was greeted at the door with a warm hug from his mum. 

 

She ushered him into the kitchen, commenting on how much he'd grown even in the few months since he'd been home last and clucking over him—"Are you sure you're eating well enough, love? All that fast food and not a decent meal in sight! Honestly, I don't know what your managers are playing at, you lot are growing boys, you need  _vegetables_  for chrissakes…"—as she bustled around the kitchen fixing tea and grabbing ingredients for dinner out of the fridge. Harry rolled his eyes fondly, with an obligatory, "Yes, mum, we're  _fine_ , I promise," which she promptly ignored in favor of continuing to bemoan the likely state of his arteries in forty years.

 

Eventually, her concerned fussing petered out and she sat down at the scrubbed wooden table with two steaming mugs of tea, sliding one over to her son with a "Careful, dear, it's hot."—"Yes, I  _know_  tea is hot, mum, thanks"—and settling into the chair, looking at Harry fully for the first time since he'd arrived.

 

He seemed tired and a little sad, she thought, looking at the tracings of dark shadows forming under his eyes and the slight tautness about his lips that hadn't been there before. She knew Harry though, and knew he would come to her eventually with whatever was bothering him.

 

Harry had always been close with his mum. She had always treated him as an adult, even when he was little, and respected his opinions and thoughts, never discounting them because he was a kid. She'd been the first person he'd run to when he had his first falling out with a friend at 12, and his first breakup a few years later. And, sure, they'd had fights when he went through what she liked to call his "rebellious" phase at 14, but they'd always worked through it, because at the end of the day, they loved each other unconditionally. So it was no surprise that home was the first place he'd thought to run to after his latest heartbreak. 

 

And with every minute he spent at that familiar table (faded with age and still bearing the scars from when was six and he'd accidentally drawn a picture with permanent marker and it'd bled through the paper), sipping the tea only his mum could make perfectly, and basking in her comforting presence, he felt the uncomfortable pressure in his chest lifting little by little. 

 

"So, how are things in London?" Anne asked. Her tone was carefully neutral, and Harry immediately knew she'd picked up on his dampened mood. He wanted to tell her about what that had happened, but he'd hoped he'd have a little more time to process on his own before having that conversation.

 

"Erm, fine, I suppose. I guess I just needed a break from everything, it gets a bit too much, spending all my time around the same people. I already see the boys every day for work, it's nice to come home and get away from them," Harry rambled, and realized a second too late that he'd let on too much when he saw his mum's worried frown.

 

"You've never talked about them like that before, Haz, you usually can't shut up about how lovely they all are. Has something happened?" she asked tentatively, not wanting to push him before he was ready to tell her the whole story.

 

"No, not really. I don't know. Just…needed a break from hi—them," he said, knotting his fingers together around his cooling mug of tea.

 

"Him?" she prompted gently, "Which 'him' are we talking about?"

 

"I said  _them_ ," Harry muttered tetchily, "It's just…a bit much at the moment."

 

"Okay," she said, patting his hand with her own. "I just—you can talk to me about it, you know that. Whatever it is, I'm here for you."

 

"I know, mum," Harry sighed. "I think I need, y'know, like, time before I can talk about it? It's just a bit overwhelming just now."

 

She gave him a slight smile and reassuring nod before standing up from the table and moving back into the kitchen to start fixing dinner, leaving Harry to sip the last dregs of tea from his cup as he mulled over everything. 

 

After dinner was over and they'd moved into the living room to eat ice cream and watch a movie, Harry spoke up.

 

"It's Louis," he said, putting his bowl on the coffee table and turning to face his mum.

 

"I had a feeling," she said softly, turning to her son and waiting for him to continue. 

 

"I guess, basically, I've had a crush on him since we met, kind of. And I'd always, like, ignored it, you know? He's never seemed interested, so I just…tried to not think about it. And then this weird thing happened the other night and like, I thought maybe his feelings changed? But they didn't. And it just sucks, to get my hopes up and then have them crushed. Like I thought for a minute, yeah, maybe this could really happen, and then…no. And I need to just forget it altogether because we've got the band and we share the flat and all, and he's my best mate and I definitely don't want to lose that either. I just knew I couldn't do that—get over him—when he's constantly around, like, it's impossible. So here I am."

 

Anne let her son finish, and then wrapped him in a big hug. Harry melted into the embrace, smelling her familiar perfume and nestling his head on her shoulder. He felt all of five years old again, when a hug from his mother could soothe all the hurt away. When he pulled away it was only to settle into her side, so she could smooth the curls away from his forehead like she always did. 

 

"I'm sorry, sweets," she said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "I've been through my fair share of heartache, and I know how hard it is. But you'll get through it, I know you will. Have you tried talking to Louis about it?"

 

"No, I think it's just best if I move on, honestly," Harry said firmly. "I knew it was never going to happen, I need to get past it once and for all."

 

His mother didn't say anything for a while, just continued to hold him snug to her side. When she spoke, it was only to say, "All right, love. I still think you two should talk, but you know your relationship better than I do."

 

Harry didn't reply, just let her continue brushing his hair back with her fingers until he dozed off, the hushed sounds of the movie still playing in the background. 

 

+++

 

After talking with his mum, Harry felt better. It was nice to have someone to unload on after keeping his feelings to himself for so long, and he'd desperately needed a supportive shoulder after everything that had happened. 

 

His mum hadn't brought up their conversation since then and neither had he; he was set in his decision to move on from his crush, and so further discussion of the matter was unnecessary, at least in his mind. He had a feeling that she didn't think it was so cut and dry, but he pointedly ignored the silently imploring looks she gave him every so often.

 

He'd had a lovely time at home since that first night, spending the next few days hanging around his old haunts and catching up with friends, visiting the bakery he'd worked at before X-Factor, and chatting with his sister who'd popped in for a visit when she'd heard Harry was home for a few days. 

 

He'd been able to almost forget about all the drama while surrounded with family and old friends and home, with nothing to remind him about his new life. It had been a nice escape. But now it was his last night here and he wasn't looking forward to getting back to London tomorrow and putting his plan to the test. He'd finished packing his things, and now here he was, sprawled out on his bedroom floor like a lazy house cat, dreading the dawn. 

 

It was getting late, so Harry heaved himself up off the floor, made a quarter turn, and promptly dropped backwards onto his bed. He pulled off his shirt and wriggled out of his jeans and pants, stretching out as he laid back. The bed was slightly too short for him now, after his recent growth spurt, and his feet dangled off the end a bit. 

 

As he stared up at the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars spangled across his ceiling, he found his thoughts drifting back to Louis, as they inevitably seemed to do. He wondered what he'd been up to the last few days: if he missed him, or even noticed his absence.  _Well, at least he'd certainly notice the lack of breakfast,_  Harry thought with a snort. 

 

Even though Harry had by and large been able to put his emotional turmoil aside in the last few days, he still felt an ache in his chest every time he thought of something funny he would normally text Lou about, or ate a piece of his mum's famous double chocolate cake that Louis hadn't been able to shut up about when she'd made it for them last Christmas. He needed time away from Louis, to be sure, but he also  _missed_  him so much. And as much as he dreaded returning and dealing face to face with his problems, he couldn't help but eagerly anticipate seeing Louis again. 

 

He needed to stop thinking about Louis and get some sleep if he was ever going to wake up in the morning to make the long drive back, so he pulled the covers over him and settled down, closing his eyes. After fifteen minutes of counting sheep and restless tossing, he sighed and accepted that sleep was a long way off. He figured he'd use his tried and true cure for insomnia, and have a quick wank in the hopes it would allow him to drift off. 

 

As he palmed himself lazily into hardness, he allowed his thoughts to wander, mentally flicking through a collection of images and memories to help him along. He was just getting into one particularly heated scenario involving a very fit girl he'd met a few months back at a show and taken home for the night, when his ever-unhelpful brain decided to pull up a different memory, of the night after a much more recent show. One that involved a certain blue-eyed bandmate stroking himself in a steam-filled shower.  

 

He twisted one hand in the sheets as his hips bucked up into the tight circle of fingers around his shaft, breathing becoming more and more erratic as his mind played out the way Louis' stomach muscles would have clenched, beads of moisture rolling down his torso. 

 

He gathered the precum beading at the head of his cock with a shaky thumb and shuddered as he spread it over his length, fisting slickly over himself and groaning low and long as he guiltily continued the fantasy, watching in his mind's eye as Louis' legs started shaking and he threw his head back against the tile, choking out a breathy " _Harry!_ " just before he came, white hot liquid pulsing out of him and spiraling down the drain. 

 

With one last flick of his wrist, Harry felt the familiar wave of pleasure build to a peak and crash over him; his toes curled and he gasped as he came in long, warm spurts over his hand and stomach.

 

He grabbed a tissue from his bedside table to wipe himself off and fell back into bed, loose-limbed and quivery. As he drifted off to sleep, he had a brief thought that maybe continuing to get off to thoughts of Louis wasn't the best way to stick to his plan. But as that had been one of the better orgasms of his life, he was willing to let it slide, figuring one last night wouldn't hurt in the long run.

 

The next morning, Harry dragged his heavy limbs out of bed, packed up his small duffel bag and set off back to London. 

 

He decided what he really needed to kickstart his plan and get his mind off of Louis was to get laid, preferably by someone incredibly gorgeous and charming and amazingly witty, and that the best way to go about accomplishing that was to have a party at their flat that night. 

 

He pulled over at a rest stop to fill his car with petrol and grab some coffee. He hooked the pump up to his car and pulled out his phone, scrolling through his contacts and sending a mass text to at least half of them, telling them to come over that night and bring as much booze as they could carry. 


	7. Chapter 7

It was early afternoon and Louis and Niall were just starting what was easily their thousandth game of FIFA when they heard the front door open and close. It seemed Harry had finally come home from Holmes Chapel. 

 

Louis felt an anxious knot twist in his stomach as he heard footsteps heading into the living room and Niall gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. He arranged his face into what he hoped was a cheerful expression, not sure what to expect after Harry's mercurial mood and sudden departure. 

 

To his surprise, when Harry came into the living room he greeted the both of them with a bright hello and identical hair ruffles before plopping himself down on the couch between the two boys and stretching his legs out lazily. 

 

"Ah, so the prodigal son returns! How was your trip, mate?" Niall greeted.

 

"It was nice, you know, got to see my mum and that. The drive was long though, got caught up in traffic on the way home. What have you lads been up to?" Harry returned.

 

"Oh, you know, this and that," Louis answered with an ostentatious flick of his fringe, shooting for blasé and falling pathetically short, managing to land somewhere in the vicinity of vaguely sassy. Niall looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh; Louis appreciated the effort. 

 

"By that he means we've been sat here on this couch doing fuck all since you left," Niall snorted, catching Louis' pointed glare and giving him an affectionate punch on the shoulder. 

 

Harry issued a throaty laugh and replied, "Well, boys, your boring hermit days are at an end starting tonight. We're having a party!" 

 

Louis managed a weak smile to cover his disappointment. He'd hoped when Harry got back they could spend some time getting on more normal terms, try and fix whatever had gone wrong over the last week. But it seemed that was going to be put on hold for the time being. 

 

+++

 

The flat was packed wall to wall with people by nine o'clock. Music pulsed through the rooms, bass vibrating hard, causing the picture frames on the wall to rattle with each beat. A makeshift dance floor had opened up in the middle of the living room where drinks sloshed down shirtfronts and sweaty hands fisted in skirts as bodies moved rhythmically together to the pounding music. There was enough liquor in the kitchen for them to open their own bar and then some, and the partygoers were taking full advantage—well, all the partygoers except one. 

 

Louis was stubbornly sulking in a corner of the kitchen while an already very tipsy Niall tried to persuade him into having a good time. 

 

"Come on, Louis. Don't be like this," Niall coaxed. "You were complaining about Harry being all moody and weird before he left, and now that's sorted, he's fine! So what's the problem? Just let loose, yeah?" 

 

"It's not sorted!" Louis shouted indignantly. "I didn't want him all moody, yeah, but I also didn't ask for him to invite a thousand people I've never met into our flat like it's some kind of bloody Noah's Ark for slags!"

 

Niall groaned, "Look, I know it's not ideal, but at least try and make the best of it. Let's just get pissed and enjoy ourselves. I promise I'll keep you company, you won't have to face the army of slags alone, all right?"

 

Louis finally relented and accepted the shot glass Niall handed him. He figured he could put up with one night of drunken debauchery. Niall gave him a bright smile and clapped him on the shoulder, clinking their glasses together before they tipped the burning liquid down their throats in unison. 

 

A couple of hours and more than a couple of shots later, Louis and Niall were doubled over laughing hysterically at the very drunk Liam and Zayn, who were currently crooning "I Want It That Way" at the top of their lungs, complete with synchronized hand gestures that would have made the Backstreet Boys very proud indeed. 

 

As Liam and Zayn started in on the third verse, Louis was wiping tears of mirth from his eyes and leaning heavily on Niall, gasping for air. He groped around for something to pull himself upright, needing to catch his breath, and his hand caught on one of the chairs that belonged to the kitchen table. He steadied himself with a hand on the chair and surveyed the party for the first time in a while. 

 

Louis hadn't seen Harry since the start of the party; he'd disappeared onto the balcony with the first wave of people and Louis figured he'd just been bouncing around from group to group ever since. He was just wondering what he'd gotten up to when he saw him. 

 

All traces of laughter drained out of Louis as he took in the sight before him. Harry was on the dance floor, one long arm wrapped around the trim waist of a pretty blonde girl, pressing her back against his front as their bodies moved with the beat. His thumb rubbed slow circles into her hip as she ground back into him, throwing a slender arm up behind her to grip his neck and bring his mouth down to hers in a sloppy kiss. 

 

A sickening rush of jealousy ripped through Louis' stomach and he quickly turned away from the spectacle, rejoining his oblivious bandmates. The boys were all still cackling loudly together; apparently Zayn and Liam had started in on the Spice Girls catalogue. Louis didn't find their drunken serenade quite as charming after seeing exactly how much Harry was enjoying the party, but he plastered on a half-hearted smile anyway, aware it probably came off as a grimace. 

 

He was proved right as Niall looked over at him and frowned, confused as to what could have killed Louis' mood so quickly. Louis dully jerked his thumb in the direction of the dance floor and Niall's eyes followed his gesture, catching sight of Harry and the girl over Louis' shoulder. His puzzled expression melted into one of sympathy as he pulled Louis into a tight hug. 

 

"It doesn't mean anything, Louis. He's drunk, and he doesn't know how you feel. Try not to think about it, okay? Let's get you another drink," Niall began ushering him back into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder at Liam and Zayn: "Oi! Sporty, Posh! Get your sorry arses into the kitchen, we've got shots to take!"

 

+++

 

Harry was very, very drunk. 

 

The first round of guests as well as the first round of shots had provided an immediate and effective distraction from Louis, and the night had progressed positively from there. Every time a new person showed up at his side, he had something to focus on that wasn't related to how fantastic Louis looked in his white button-down and black jeans. And every time said person offered him a new drink, it scattered his thoughts further and further, so that after an hour (or two? three? he couldn't keep track), it was hard to concentrate on anything that wasn't shiny, let alone complex thoughts about love and penises. 

 

He'd spent most of the night thus far chatting to old friends and making new ones, milling about the flat and being a good host. He'd caught glimpses of Louis every once in a while, and every time he did he noticed that Louis was practically plastered to Niall's hip. 

 

He felt a twinge of jealousy, knowing that usually it'd be Louis stuck to  _his_  side all night, not Niall's. He knew he was being stupid about it, and he reminded himself that he was supposed to be getting over Louis, not getting upset over him hanging out with their  _best friends_ , of all the ridiculous things to be jealous about. 

 

But jealous he was. And drunk he was also. He hadn't forgotten that his purpose in having this party in the first place was to find someone to make him forget about Louis, even if just for one night. And to that end, he scanned the party for any likely takers. His eyes alighted on a petite blonde girl who was eyeing him up and down rather obviously; a cheeky smirk played on her lips as they made eye contact, and Harry couldn't help but return it with one of his own. 

 

He made his way across the room to where she was standing, and leaned in to her ear to make himself heard over the noise of the party. 

 

"D'you want to dance, love?" 

 

She grinned, eyes lighting up, and nodded. 

 

As Harry pulled her onto the dance floor and up against him, he tried his best to lose himself in her perfume and the sway of her hips and ignore the sound of Louis' laughter that seemed to follow him everywhere. 

 

+++

 

A while later, Louis was leaning on the kitchen counter with the rest of the boys, his disposition slowly lifting as they joked around, willing himself to forget about Harry and the girl. 

 

By the second round of shots, Niall had coerced him into doing a rendition of "Summer Nights" from Grease, making first Zayn, then Liam sing the part of Sandy. Louis was of the professional opinion that Zayn hit the high notes better, but Liam played the part of the blushing virgin more convincingly. He opined to them on each of their strengths and weaknesses as potential Sandys to his Danny before declaring they'd both won and there would have to be two Sandys; Broadway would just have to deal. 

 

Before he could get around to organizing dress rehearsals, however, he realized he had to piss, which he loudly announced to the lads. He gave a formal bow, declaring primly that he expected playbills to be printed by the time he returned from the loo, and stumbled out of the kitchen and into the dark hallway. 

 

He made it to the guest toilet without incident, relieving himself and flushing before washing his hands and opening the door. He was meandering his way back down the same hallway, trying not to trip over his own feet, when he saw two blurry shapes pressed together against the wall. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be two people snogging rather violently. 

 

He was planning on moving past them unnoticed when he heard one of them say, in a slightly slurred but still achingly familiar voice, "You're beautiful, did you know?" The girl giggled in response and they resumed kissing filthily.

 

Louis stopped dead in his tracks, a hot curl of anger unfurling in his chest for the second time that night; there was no way his luck was this bad. He had stayed in the kitchen for a reason, damn it! He was trying to stay away from Harry, not wanting to torture himself further after the prelude-to-a-shag dance he'd witnessed. He'd known where that level of grinding was headed, and he had every intention of being as far away from Harry as possible when the inevitable happened—he was thinking Nepal was probably nice this time of year, maybe he'd go there. But no, now here he was, watching Harry wrapped around that blonde twit, all because of his stupid bladder and Harry's stupid libido. 

 

Her fingers twisted into the hair at the nape of Harry's neck as she wound one willowy leg around his waist. Harry gripped her thigh and leaned back against the wall as she pressed impossibly closer to him, and Louis couldn't take it any more. If he couldn't go to Nepal, he could at least be bitchy about not being allowed to go to the loo in peace. 

 

"Do you mind not dry humping in the middle of the hallway, please? I don't want your spunk all over the wallpaper, Harry. Christ," Louis spat, his voice ringing loudly in the relative quiet of the hall. 

 

Harry's head snapped up at his voice and Louis' mouth went dry as he saw his face fully: he looked like some kind of wanton poster boy for sex. Louis trailed his gaze down to the purpling love bites marring the porcelain skin of his neck and collarbones before flickering his eyes back upwards as Harry's tongue darted out to moisten his kiss-swollen lips; his hazy eyes were focused on Louis, blurred with lust and alcohol, pupils blown and rimmed with a vivid bottle green.  

 

Harry didn't immediately react to Louis' outburst, and Louis didn't wait to see if a response was coming. He stormed back into the main room, his drunken mind flitting from lust to jealous anger at how Harry had looked so, so wrecked wrapped in the arms of the blonde girl. He was torn between wanting to throw Harry against the wall himself to see how much redder his lips could get, and punching him in the face for making him feel so unbelievably shitty.  

 

He was done. Done with this ridiculous party, done with the pounding beat of the music that marched in time with his pounding headache, done with the stupid people whose fault it was that the girl was even there in the first place. 

 

He stalked over to the sound system and shut it off, prompting loud cries of "Oi, turn the music back on, fucking prat!"  

 

Louis was not having any of it. He climbed up onto the coffee table that had been pushed against the back wall at some point during the night, and shouted at the mass of bodies surrounding him, "THE PARTY'S OVER; GO HOME. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FLAT, ALL OF YOU!" before he jumped down from the table and started unceremoniously pushing people toward the door, receiving innumerable glares and grumbles from the guests. 

 

Niall, Liam and Zayn watched the exodus confusedly from the entrance to the kitchen, exchanging curious glances with each other but remaining silent. Once the last of the crowd had trickled out the front door, Louis sat heavily on the now beer-soaked couch and put his head in his hands. 

 

Liam and Zayn made to go over to their inexplicably—to them, at least—distraught friend, but Niall stopped them with a hand on each shoulder.

 

"I think you'd better let me take this one, boys," Niall uttered in a low voice.  Zayn frowned and Liam looked like he was about to protest, eyebrows creasing, but Niall added, "Just trust me. Go wait outside, I'll be out in a minute." They nodded and exited the flat. 

 

Niall walked over to the couch, placing a hand on Louis' back, rubbing small circles of comfort between his shoulder blades. 

 

Louis looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes and said in an unsteady voice, "I can't talk about it right now. Thanks and all, but really. I'm…just. I really can't." 

 

Niall nodded and with one last reassuring pat, he left. The front door closed softly and left a deafening silence in its wake. 

 

Louis rose from the couch, trying to keep the room from spinning as he scanned the damage left by the party. There were plastic cups littering the floor and empty cartons of beer stacked in a corner. The carpet was now home to several new stains, and the tiled area of the kitchen was covered in a uniform layer of sticky mess. 

 

He began clumsily snatching the cups off the floor, hurt and anger mixing with the alcohol in his veins to form a toxic mental sludge coating his brain.  _Fucking Harry and his fucking party and this fucking mess is all his fucking fault and that idiotic fucking girl he's probably fucking_ fucking  _in his bedroom right now while I clean up all this shit_ , he thought angrily as he gingerly picked up a particularly disgusting cup containing the contents of someone's stomach and dumped it in the trash in the kitchen. 

 

He walked unsteadily back out to the living room to gather more cups and came face to face with very confused, very drunk, and very pissed off Harry. 

 

Louis folded his arms over his chest and clenched his jaw, glaring up at Harry through narrowed, icy eyes. Harry regarded him for a moment before speaking in an even, clipped tone, "What the hell, Louis?"

 

"Oh, sorry for calling off your big blowout, Harry," He slurred sarcastically. "Some of us don't want to be up at all hours dealing with drunken idiots getting off in every corner of the sodding flat. Which reminds me, where did that  _lovely_ bird you were sucking the face off of go, hmm? Find some other pathetic slob to get her kit off with, or is she still lurking around here somewhere—"

 

Harry's eyes were wild and he was seething as he cut Louis off, shouting, "Don't talk about her like that Louis, what the fuck has gotten into you tonight? And where the hell do you get off, anyway? It's none of your fucking business who I decide to 'suck the face off of,' as you so charmingly put it. You don't get a say in this! I didn't give you shit for practically fucking Eleanor on top of the bar the other night, so shut your fucking mouth, yeah?" 

 

Harry almost never cursed, and he  _never_  raised his voice. Louis reeled back, stunned as if he'd been hit, before balling his hands into fists and yelling right back. 

 

"For your information, her idiot friend that I can never remember the name of practically forced me to do that stupid body shot, so maybe you should shut your own fucking mouth!" Louis snapped. "And all of this is beside the point because I broke up with Eleanor days ago, which you would  _know_  if you hadn't been avoiding me for the last week for no reason!" 

 

An odd look crossed Harry's face as Louis' last words echoed through the room.  He ran a broad palm through his disheveled curls, looking away and furrowing his brow like he was deciding something. 

 

He stepped forward before catching himself and stopping, then looked at Louis with an inscrutable expression and slowly asked, "Why did you break up with Eleanor?"

 

Louis felt his anger slowly dissipate only to be replaced by a shaky fear as he weighed his next words.

 

"Because I…because I have feelings for someone else," he muttered, breaking his gaze away from Harry and staring at the floor. 

 

If Louis hadn't been focusing on a particularly large stain on the carpet, he would have seen the hurt flash through his best friend's eyes at those words.

 

"Who?" Harry asked, his voice wavering slightly. 

 

"It doesn't matter, just drop it," Louis murmured in a pleading tone. He stuffed his trembling hands in his pockets and continued to stare pointedly at the stain, thinking it rather looked like his Aunt Midge from this angle. 

 

The hurt in Harry's eyes was replaced by dawning realization and an aching hope as he watched Louis flush, eyes trained on the floor. He knew Louis would have just told him right then who it was he had feelings for, unless… 

 

"Louis, look at me," Harry pressed gently. "Who is it?" 

 

Louis finally tore his gaze away from the stain and locked eyes with Harry, who looked like he was teetering on the edge of some unfathomable precipice; his green eyes were filled with hope and fear and something indefinable that made Louis' stomach flip over. He stared into those wide eyes and felt the last of his resolve slip away. 

 

He threw his arms up miserably, bursting out, "It's you, you absolute wanker! And I've been trying for weeks to get over it, but you make it impossible, with your stupidly perfect face and your body that I see  _far too much of_ all the time and your, your  _you-ness—_ "

 

He was cut off as Harry surged forward, closing the distance between them in a few long strides, and captured his lips in a desperate kiss. Louis was stunned for a moment, having expected an awkward rejection and a weak promise that they could remain friends, not to suddenly find Harry's lips moulded against his own, soft and insistent. 

 

He recovered from his shock quickly and reciprocated, urgently parting Harry's lips with his own and grabbing Harry's narrow hips to pull him closer. He reveled in the feeling of Harry's fingers threading through his hair and Harry's hipbones pressed against his fingertips. He felt a battering ram of lust-love-longing crash into his heart as he realized he was finally touching Harry the way he'd hungered for. 

 

He turned them blindly and shoved Harry against the wall of the living room, eliciting a low growl from the taller boy as he nipped lightly at his bottom lip before trailing open-mouthed kisses along his jawline and down his neck. 

 

He heard Harry suck in a breath as he teased the skin covering his collarbone with his teeth, leaving a fresh red mark to join the others littering his neck from earlier in the evening. He licked over the love bite soothingly with the flat of his tongue before winding his fingers through Harry's soft curls and recapturing his lips, tongues tangling and teeth clacking. 

 

Harry's strong arms wound around his waist and pulled their bodies flush against each other, and Louis let out an embarrassingly high pitched whimper as he felt the thick line of Harry's cock pressed against his thigh. His own hard length twitched in response, leaking into his boxers as he instinctively ground into Harry's crotch, seeking some kind of friction to relieve the dizzying tension. 

 

Harry gasped into Louis' mouth as he felt him rut against him and let out a low moan as he bucked his hips forward, body thrumming with arousal. He broke away from the searing kiss and buried his face in Louis' neck, gripping his lithe frame and thrusting against his hip, feeling him shudder and tug his curls harshly in response. 

 

They moved together rhythmically, chasing the crackling electric high coursing through them as they both drew closer to their release. Harry exhaled harsh breaths into Louis' neck, occasionally pressing his open mouth to the soft skin there and leaving brief kisses. 

 

Louis' hands left his curls to rake trails down his spine and he heard a breathy whine escape Louis' throat, followed by "I-I'm…I'm close" whispered in his ear. At this, Harry let out a loud groan, feeling a thrill of arousal shoot straight to his cock at the thought of Louis coming apart wrapped in his arms, and began moving more rapidly against him.

 

 A few moments later, Harry felt Louis tense against him and moan " _Harry_!" in the same wrecked tone he'd heard a week ago, and  _oh_ this was so much better than hearing it muffled through a bathroom door. 

 

Feeling Louis sweaty and shaking through his climax, moaning his name, was more than enough to push Harry into his own release, and he bit down on Louis' shoulder as he pulsed wet, sticky warmth into his boxers. 


	8. Chapter 8

Louis awoke the next morning to the feeling of something cold touching his nose. He opened his eyes groggily, seeing something silver flicker in and out of his blurry vision before it came into focus and took the shape of a very familiar paper plane necklace. He dimly registered that he was tucked into Harry's side, his head resting on the toned planes of his chest, with one of Harry's heavy arms thrown around his shoulders. He was slightly confused as to how he'd arrived there, until—

 

_Shit_. 

 

Vague memories of the night before came trickling in, of shouting and then—oh god, he hadn't told him, had he? Yes, he certainly had.  _Wank bugger fuck shitting arse fuckity fuckballs,_ Harry knew. 

 

But then there had been kissing, hadn't there? Yes, definitely—his lips felt permanently bruised, like he'd stuck his mouth to the end of a vacuum cleaner all night. Louis shifted experimentally, taking inventory of his body. His thighs felt sticky and uncomfortable, almost like he'd—

 

_Oh god._

 

Louis' eyes flew open, heart thudding wildly as the rest of the night came flooding back to him. He blushed crimson to his hairline as he remembered rutting shamelessly against Harry on the wall, the two of them reaching their messy climax and stumbling into the hearest bedroom—Harry's, he realized as he looked around—and falling asleep. He chanced a glance up at Harry, knowing he was still asleep, and momentarily forgot that he was supposed to be in the middle of a panic attack. 

 

Harry's lips were parted, fluttering slightly with his deep breathing as his nose emitted quiet snores that sounded more like snuffles. His curls were splayed messily over the pillow, sticking up almost completely vertically on one side from where they'd been crushed against his pillow. His eyebrows were drawn slightly together, like he was dreaming about something that required his full concentration, and Louis giggled involuntarily at the sight before clapping a horrified hand to his mouth as he willed Harry not to wake up at the sound. 

 

No such luck. 

 

Harry's eyes flickered open, and after blinking confusedly for a moment, met Louis' anxious blue gaze with his own sleepy green. He smiled a little sheepishly and blushed, rosy pink flushing his cheeks as he looked at Louis, before frowning slightly as he registered that Louis wasn't so much basking in the same morning-after glow he felt so much as he was tensing like a caged animal.

 

Louis forced a nervous smile onto his face and managed a shaky "M-morning, Harry" before extricating himself from Harry's embrace and sitting up. Harry shifted up until he was leaning against the headboard, still looking at Louis warily, like he was afraid he would bolt at any second. 

 

"Morning, Lou," Harry rumbled, voice scratchy and low. "How are you…feeling?"

 

"Erm, well, bit of a hangover, I suppose, haha, you know how that goes…" Louis began rambling. "Should we make some breakfast? Or we could go out? Or actually, you know, I think Niall mentioned something about an…erm…thing we were supposed to do, so I might just nip over to his—"

 

"Louis," Harry interrupted, folding his arms over his chest and cocking his head. Louis tried not to think about how endearing the sight was, dropping his gaze to the duvet and plucking nervously at the threads. 

 

"—Um. Yes?" Louis replied in a slightly squeaky voice, continuing to avoid the stare of the sleepy boy who was looking so inviting just now. 

 

"Why are you nattering on like we've never met and acting like you'd rather be anywhere but here?" Harry said, confused and a little hurt. "I thought last night we'd, like, y'know…gotten somewhere. Do you not want this?"

 

Louis shifted slightly on the bed before looking up at Harry, "I…well, I do, but—" 

 

"Okay, then stop being such a twitchy prat and come here," Harry said as he gestured for Louis to come closer. It was a tempting offer, but Louis stayed where he was. He wanted to clear up a few things. 

 

"But…last night I know I told you how I felt and I know we…y'know…but you never really said and I—" Louis fumbled, hoping he came off slightly less pathetic than he felt. To his surprise, he heard Harry give an exasperated chuckle before saying,

 

"Oh for fuck's sake, Lou, you are the densest person sometimes. I should've known I'd have to spell it out. Okay, I love you, Louis, and have done since I first laid eyes on you. Now can we get over this…whatever weird nervous thing and get to the good part?"

 

Relief washed over Louis, followed immediately by a tingling of nerves as he asked, "What's the good part?"

 

Harry rolled his eyes and leaned forward, grasping the back of his neck and pressing his lips to Louis'. Louis smiled into the kiss before the full impact of what Harry had said hit him and he pulled back.

 

"Wait, you love me? Like,  _love me_ , love me? Like you're actually, genuinely,  _in love with me_?" Louis' eyes were wide again, this time in awe instead of anxiety. 

 

Harry pulled him back into the kiss, mumbling a muffled "Yes, Louis" into his lips. But Louis wasn't done, and he pushed Harry away, ignoring the annoyed pout he received in response.

 

"And you have done since we  _met_?" he sputtered indignantly. "Why didn't you tell me before now?!"

 

"Because you were taken. And straight, or so I thought. And because you're…well, you. I never thought I had a chance, to be honest," Harry said with a shrug.

 

Now Louis was the one to yank Harry's lips to his in a crushing kiss that he hoped would convey how utterly, heart-wrenchingly perfect he found him and how daft he was for thinking he never had a shot. 

 

Harry wrapped his arms around his waist and heaved him onto his lap, returning the kiss with even more fervor. They stayed like this, tangled together and kissing, until Louis broke their lips apart, taking Harry's face in his palms and whispering, "For the record, I love you too." 

 

Harry's face melted into the widest, most beautiful grin he'd ever seen, eyes crinkled and shining. And Louis thought that if he could do one thing for the rest of his life, it would be to make Harry smile like that. 


End file.
